


Many Things

by Sweetlady77



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-03-07 22:37:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18882649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweetlady77/pseuds/Sweetlady77
Summary: While apart, Missandei and Grey Worm reflect on their beginnings and that beautiful night before his departure. Takes place after Season 7, episode 2's "Stormborn" with title coming from Season 7, episode 4, "Spoils of War."I don't own these characters and wish I did.





	1. Chapter 1

Absence truly made the devoted heart grow heavy in weight, arousing the agitated body with repressed yearning. It burned mostly in the privacy of bleak nights, crackling softly like warm, little fires casting black shadows against the walls of her secluded bed chamber.

Alone and barefoot, Missandei's violet dressing gown-sheer and form fitting- trailed the ground, swishing quietly against the cool gray stone. Her spiralled brown hair was in a modest bun, a few wisp curls dangling upon her thick, sparse brows. She reached her destiny- the window- only to stare out unseeingly and hug her slender arms to her chest, wading off an invisible chill.

It seemed a lifetime. Like years miserably passed by as opposed to endless weeks without notice. So utterly long since they had passionately parted, inflaming and exhausting their curiosities, teaching each other limitless desires. She had been his language tutor and he led her down an uncharted path of tangled sheets and desperate cries.

In the solemn darkness of Dragonstone, Missandei prayed for Grey Worm, her beloved Torgo Nudho's safe return from yet another battle. After all, ages ago, the vicious Sons of the Harpy ambush nearly killed him in Meereen, encouraging the quiet translator to tearfully sit vigil at the Unsullied soldier's side, grasping his cool hand, waiting impatiently for his deep brown eyes to open for her. That made her ultimately realize just how deeply he affected her, beyond giving him private Common Tongue lessons and that daunting moment in the waters when he saw her unclothed body.

He was beautiful to her, a beautiful, once broken man coming to full bloom. She loved his gentle brown eyes, how they lit up in her presence, slowly breaking out of a cold, haunted prison. The shape of his puckered lips fascinated her, the fervent manner they felt pressed against hers. His vulnerability touched her immensely, opened her heart to the alluring possibilities he presented.

They were alike in many ways, stolen, light brown complexions that the hot, gracious sun kissed with affection. Yet she remembered Naath and its large, splendid butterflies, the white sand beaches, her family. He remembered nothing of the Summer Isles, just the diligent, ruthless training, the turning of his mind and body into weaponry, disposability. All she wanted was for him to see that he offered more than what manipulated slavers enforced. He had potential to be one of the greatest men she ever knew.

Now he was ever so faraway, so far that if he were wounded again, she wouldn't be able to linger near his side and hold his hand in comfort.

"Please," she whispered, echoing an old, familiar wish to no one, a coveted wish for no more terrible casualties, his especially. "Keep him unharmed."

She stared at the glittering stars, watched each twinkle as though acknowledging and communally sharing her words. She then turned away and collapsed on her lonely bed. The fine spun linen sheets, graced in lilac color, melded with her violet gown, making her appear like a nymph sinking in draped fabrics. She laid on her side, reflecting on the afternoon words she admitted to her friend, her queen, Daenerys. Missandei slyly inquired about the Unsullied. Daenerys promised Grey Worm's return whilst curious about the nature of their relationship.

"Many things," Missandei remarked, causing mild blushing and clandestine smiling.

The sudden rushed secrets unveiled themselves in her fervent reminisce.

"It is hard to say goodbye to you," Grey Worm said.

"Why?" She asked.

"You know why."

Of course, she did. She wanted him to say the words, to confess in his own way what had been simmering for a while, that sweet, divine temptation that mercifully stung them both senseless. His pensive stares set her ablaze and she knew he was burdened with shyness and shame to initiate.

In his private quarters, a night before he would take morning leave, she came. He spilled honest fears, calling her a weakness, something of which a soldier couldn't afford. She admitted the same.

When he allowed her to fully undress him, nodding at her whispered request, she was careful yet attentive in her removal of his trousers, the barrier of his humiliation. She saw only a lovely body that didn't deserve the castration, skin so warm and full of life. He pleased her very much and she would show him.

She turned over and sighed aloud, her hands remembering his, so unsure and innocent, so anxious and hopeful to touch her. His full, pliant lips and ravenous tongue, however, wetly kissed and laved every exposed part of her, coating her bare skin with erotic liberation. Although they were both inexperienced in this arena, he learned rather quickly. He had her sighing and trembling explicitly until the upcoming dawn shed brilliance on lowering torches and their sweat sheened bodies.

Someday she would ask him how he knew to bring her to the brink of this ecstasy.

As tired eyelids fell hostage against her cheekbones, her dark, unhibited thoughts waited and her sorrowful body responded to unconstrained longing in both sleep and reality.

/

The Unsullied killed soldiers at Casterly Rock. Yet they were limited, few. Afterwards, it felt deserted.

The Lannisters had obviously been expecting them.

Grey Worm, intuitively irked, took off his helmet, jumped up on the roof edge, and saw the devastating sight ahead.

All of the Unsullied ships were systematically destroyed, fires and smoke rising to the sky, the large wooden particles floating in the abyssal waters, drifting to sandy shore like dismembered bodies.

"Where are the others?" Grey Worm asked a dying soldier. "Where are the Lannisters?"

The soldier said nothing, spitting up more blood, his blue eyes awash with death.

"Do we even have enough food and supplies for the journey, Commander?" Red Snake asked. He was a young, impressionable one, shaved head and sienna skin.

"We will have to ration," Grey Worm replied grimly, not pleased to have his soldiers walking in this nasty cold sans proper replenishment.

...

At dusk, on the hard ground, with arms folded behind his shaven head, Grey Worm stared above at the navy blue tent roof. He had rested inside these thin, tents millions of times throughout his pragmatic soldier life, been accustomed to their portable temporariness. It seemed that would be his whole destiny, to train, command, fight, and die, no in-between, living in nomadic tents.

Ever since that great day he and his Unsullied comrades became free and they chose him to lead, he became lost to the erratic beating within. After taking off his iron helmet and stepping towards Queen Daenerys, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains and beloved Missandei from the island of Naath, his hardened heart softened for a titillating beauty whose radiant skin and halo forming curls struck him like a lightning bolt. And she was intelligent, bright, and kind. Those irresistible qualities beckoned him, teased him in thoughts and dreams. She deserved a complete man, a real man. He tried to bury the unexpected brewing, ignore the amorous intensity building slow and steady, but the preciousness of her Common Tongue lessons gave them opportunities to be alone, to revel in each other's intimate presence with a heightened sense of urgency.

The brutally violent Sons of Harpy had almost destroyed everything by first murdering his friend White Rat in a brothel. Missandei sought Grey Worm out specifically to ask about the Unsullied visiting such scandalous places. He was shocked that she inquired knowledge about a private act, that she would come to him specifically. Her undeniable innocence stunned him. He couldn't bear to look into those large, observant eyes, widening with stark curiosity. Oh yes, he over heard his men talking about the acts they indulged there, what soft, perfumed ladies desired. Yet he himself didn't want to share scrupulous details to a sensitive lady like Missandei, the ruler of his heart and mind.

Days later, awakening in excruciating pain, he was surprised and honored by her fearful regard, her obvious compassion. He never would expect her to sit nimbly at his side, her expressive face, captivating in the muted fire's light. Although taken aback, he felt like a failure. His men were dead. Ser Barristan didn't survive. Still, she believed in him, healed him with her sweet words, provided medicine for his impending wounds, his broken spirit. It was then that he admitted fearing that he would never again see her, his beloved Missandei from the island of Naath. She blinked and let out a breathy sound, joined his side, and tenderly kissed him for the first time, drowning any doubts of her unconditional affection. He had been imagining her plush pink mouth forever, torturing himself, idly staring at lush flowers speckled in morning dew, reminders of her impressionable, voluptuously formed mouth. He was by no means a poet. She simply coaxed a hidden part of him to come out into the light and leave strict rigidity behind, transforming him completely.

Now his feelings were requited a thousandfold.

He groaned, fighting against seductive sleep, threatening to keep him captive. If he closed his eyes, she would be there, waiting for him, anxious to repeat their one glorious night together. After the departure, in which he could still taste traces of her succulent essence on his lips like droplets of love letters to remember her by, he tried to suppress his innermost hunger for her, hating that he waited so long to speak his delicate emotions. He could not let his judgment be clouded. That was why he made for a great leader. He had no prior distractions. Until her.

Most of the Unsullied knew, whispering about him and the beautiful translator, immediately quieting their conversations in his stern presence. He didn't like being the source of gossip or her for that matter. She deserved protection.

He turned on his side and pulled the coarse black sheet over him, uncomfortable for many reasons. His eyes closed, weakly succumbing to the power sequestered by his thunderous longing. He remembered how the humble red-orange fires of his new room in Dragonstone glowed perfectly against her dewy naked skin, how his nervous fingers touched her graceful form, how supple and smooth her moist flesh, how his lips and tongue wickedly searched for places to please her, to incite her melodic moans filling the air. Her generous nature gave way to raw sensuality, pleasing his heart and soul. As his fingers massaged her luscious softness and his lips and tongue found piquant nectar that the Naath goddesses had seemingly concocted just for him, he nearly growled, wildly addicted to the introduction of delicious paradise. She encouraged him, parting her limber legs and thighs wider, gasping at his intrusion, and he could not stop, could not get enough. He snuck glances up towards her face, watching her arching back, her hooded eyes, her moistening hair coating her glistening face.

When she turned the tides over, meaning to return favor, her tender hands touched him, explored his skin. As her full lips kissed and suckled everywhere, he knew that the masters didn't take away his capability of experiencing real joy.

He closed his eyes then, seeing her smile, hearing her laughter, and found a needed peace.

"I will come back to you, Missandei from the island of Naath," he vowed.

/

A month later, Missandei woke from a terrifying nightmare, viciously shaking at the sharp ache that suddenly filled her, piercing everything inside like pointed daggers. Sweat beaded her forehead and lightly dampened her curls.

"Torgo Nudho," she whispered, placing a hand over her panicked heart.

Something was wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missandei and Grey Worm pining away and still remembering their special night as the Lannisters ruin their hopes for a quicker reunion.

Nothing could penetrate the coarse dark blue sheets forming a safe cocoon over the two slumbering bodies wrapped tightly around each other, seamlessly intertwined with no beginning and no end. Among the quiet stillness only tall, black torches and fireplace remained nocturnal, burning brilliant orange-red flickers through each passing hour, the magnetic flames refusing wither, the crackling sounds soft and provocative.  
The translator laid content, her fevered cheek lying against her valiant warrior's strong chest wall, her drying springy curls spreading over his muted heartbeat. His strong arms were secured around her small waist, preventing her from fleeing without his notice. Her limber legs and thighs cradled against the sparse hair of his lower body, valiantly covering the source of his lifelong shame.  
Neither wanted to wake from their first satiated night of true, unconstrained happiness.  
Neither wanted to return to the grim reality of morning.  
...  
Fixation was more than it seemed.  
They ardently stared at each other in gratuitous silence, studying intently, free to exist together, free to understand how love could transport and transform them to an incredible realm of their own making, far from the ugly brutalities that class and war caused over centuries.  
They both knew that the Breaker of Chains was partly responsible for this fervid union and that the forces of nature concocted this rapturous euphoria just for them. Them alone.  
Boundaries no longer existed, softness pressing against steel solidity, tender brown eyes penetrating into pensive brown ones.  
"I should go," Missandei suggested, stroking Grey Worm's drowsy face, purposefully preserving her love's handsome visage in her memory: his haughty brows, his thick nose, his generous mouth. She would miss standing beside him each day, fighting not to linger. She appreciated and respected Daenerys and Tyrion of course, but Grey Worm's presence meant the whole world to her. He made her feel less alone in the faces of harsh criticism.  
"Yes," he sighed, caressing her hips, eliciting an inaudible response from her. His smooth fingers worked wonders on her flesh. Such simple gratification should sate her enough in his absence.  
"Time?" She asked, putting on a brave smile as he nuzzled her neck, his long lashes feathering the bottom of her chin.  
"An hour," he said, kissing her throat. She stared at the ceiling and turned her bare body onto him, granting him unlimited access whilst affectionately gripping onto his skull and massaging fine hairs with both hands.  
"Missandei," he said sternly, pausing. "We must stop."  
"I know," she agreed.  
Yet he lowered, kissing her slender collarbone, her swollen breasts, and all the warm, delighted parts below, making her scream once more...

"We took Casterly Rock," Tyrion announced, standing beside Varys at the Dragonstone beach. The scarred dwarf's downtrodden eyes pierced Missandei's soul. She stood beside Daenerys, Jon Snow, and Davos, watching Tyrion's expression and tone quite closely.   
"Well, that's very good, to hear," Daenerys said, her silver hair pulled back in braids with a few loose tendrils curling over both sides of her bright porcelain face. "Isn't it?"  
Tyrion's expression softened, briefly peering over at Missandei, seeing her brown eyes widened and thick brows furrowed in concern. He must know of her closeness with Grey Worm, know of their intimate bond, having spent a large amount of time with them, especially in Meereen. After all, they had wine and told jokes-- a rare occasion for both Missandei and Grey Worm to be treated worthy to such luxury beyond the call of duty.   
"Unfortunately, the Lannisters were not present as we hoped," Tyrion continued, morose. "They burned the Unsullied ships and cleared off the Casterly Rock rations."  
"What?" Daenerys snapped. "How would they know we were set to the course?"  
"I do not know."  
"That is not a good enough answer."  
"You still have the largest armies."  
"Who won't be able to eat because Cersei has taken all the food from the reach."  
"Call Grey Worm and the Unsullied back. We still have enough ships to carry the Dothraki to the mainland. Commit to the blockade of King's Landing. We have a plan. It's still the right plan."  
"The right plan? Your strategy has lost us dawn islands and the reach."  
Perhaps a traitor sequestered themselves in the midst of the Targaryen defense, having informed the enemy of their plans, putting the Unsullied at risk.  
Missandei tried containing her insurmountable fear, staring out at the sweeping ocean waves in disbelief, her worst nightmare confirmed.  
"If I have underestimated our enemies," Tyrion began.  
"Our enemies?" Daenerys spat. "Your family, you mean!"  
Missandei drowned out their argument, sinking slowly in emotional agony over the plight of her Torgo Nordu.  
Her heart pounded. Her breathing grew ragged, uneven.  
Much later, Daenerys would come to hold Missandei's hand and wipe her sudden outburst of tears. She had been embodying courage, keeping her head high and defiant, hiding beneath the cool, collected mask of bravado. In the night, however, Missandei let her sadness escape, sobbing right against her queen and friend's shoulder.  
"I made you a promise," Daenerys professed, patting Missandei gently. "I will see that he comes back to you unscathed."

/  
Their rigorously remembered training made it simple to ignore the cold and hunger, their fierce determination moving forward through the dropping temperatures. Their heavy synchronized steps led towards King's Landing. The strong, resolute force withstood their need for basic sustenance, their allegiance to Queen Daenerys much greater.  
If Grey Worm blinked, for a few blissful seconds, he saw his Missandei smiling back at him, a sweet endearing motivation to be preserved forever. His. Not a stolen possession to be chained and whipped. But his to cherish, cherish the way he knew how.  
"Soon," he thought.  
The roads were paved with sudden dangers, with likely ambushed foes waiting for them.  
But Grey Worm and the Unsullied were more than ready. He was fighting for his queen and something else far more precious to him.

"Where are you going?" Missandei sighed out her question, watching him pull his trousers back on.  
"To shut door," Grey Worm replied.  
She gasped, pulling the sheet to her chest, sharing his shy smile. Although she should have felt a bit ashamed for leaving them exposed to passing soldiers, she was happy for having finally claimed her love.  
He was beyond relieved, enraptured by her acceptance of him. Years of yearning, of fighting against his forbidden need for her, crashed tremendously. If she hadn't come to his chambers, he would have left without a word to her. And he would have regretted it all.  
He closed his door and locked it, only thinking of returning to her warm beautiful body and sinking his fingers inside again, tasting the sweet drippings, delighting in hearing her mewing gasps, watching her arching back.  
He returned to her quickly and held her close, biding his time to take her to that world again. For the moment, they took gracious comfort in each other, avidly hoping that this one night would not be their last act of passion.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missandei's thoughts take place during season 7, episode eight's "The Dragon and the Wolf."

After nearly a month apart, we were nearing my love, Torgo Nudho. He was safe, having valiantly protected himself and his fleet.  
For him and him alone, I waited.  
Onboard the massive Greyjoy ship with its proud black flag blown back by brusque winds, I stood alongside the twice exiled Jorah Mormont, the man who taught Torgo the word "precious."  
"You will see him again," Jorah whispered. "I have fought at his side several times. He is one of the most agile fighters I have ever bore witness and I have battled for many years. Strong, sharp, focused, your Torgo Nudho is an honorable asset to our queen's cause."  
"Thank you," I said softly, fighting against new fluid building in my eyes. I blinked back the rush of wetness, gazing out at the endless blue-green waters, waiting for the sight of shore.  
"I know it is not my place, Missandei of Naath, Torgo Nudho is a fortunate man to have won the heart of so noble a woman. He, the Queen, and I value your steadfast loyalty."  
"I would not have it any other way."  
We shared a smile and looked back, seeing the high castle atop of the huge hunks of glistening rock. It looked impenetrable, guarded.  
So this was what my queen wanted, the Iron Throne situated here. By the goddesses of Naath, we would soon achieve that.  
/  
During the journey to the negotiation in King's Landing's Dragonpit, my telltale heart hammered madly as though knowing its mate were near. Torgo and his Unsullied soldiers were just mere seconds, close enough as opposed to oceans and lands away. It had been many torturous months. My night dreams were filled with memories to sedate lonely mornings, everything blended and bled together in a pulsing, rhythmic collision, the pleasure of explorative kisses, the searching of sacredness between thighs. I knew nothing greater than our amorous passion, a slow building journey that simmered thickly over time, boiled in one single night.

"I love you," I said, my low toned confession mingling with the soothing fires, our replete bodies filling the spaces of his barren room. If only we could stay forever suspended blissfully this way, touching, kissing, solely enjoying each other's company sans all the dreadful horrors that waited outside these four quiet walls.  
"Love?" He asked, ever the inquisitive student.  
"This word is the emotion you feel here."  
I sat up and slightly dropped the blanket an inch, bringing his beautiful hand over to my heart to feel the steady thrumming. He too settled upright and looked deeply into my face, caressing my skin, feeling the heartbeat, feeling the growing warmth.  
"It is like I cannot breathe without seeing your face during the day," I continued. "My heart skips every time you look at me. When I feel your eyes on me, I am alive. When you are gone, I feel loss and fear. All I want is to see you, see you seeing me always."  
The Unsullied only knew words for war, limiting their vocabulary, their emotional attachments that held nothing beyond violence.  
"I love you," he repeated, placing my face in his hands, caressing my cheeks and curls, staring fiercely, overprotective due in part to his raised nature.  
I took one hand and kissed his palm.  
"You will return to me," I vowed.  
"I will," he promised.  
He pressed his lips against mine, first tender and sweet, then with persuasive intensity, encouraging my mouth to open, to join our wet tongues together, thrusting and twisting, whilst his sensitive hands danced on my feverish body, his fingers searching between me again before the all consuming dawn...

I walked with Jorah, Jon Snow, and Ser Davos, Tyrion leading our party. We were directed to sit beneath a red roof on the opposite side.  
Queen Cersei and her armor clanking subjects arrived soon after. The remains of my iron hot rage came to fruition, the fury like Drogon's flames that these people viciously burned the Unsullied ships and left them stranded without food in Casterly Rock. Now we were sitting in front of them, politely asking them for help. Despite my anger, however, I knew this was absolutely necessary.  
I studied Queen Cersei, a strong, authoritative face, pink lips, a silver crown carefully placed above her cropped golden hair. According to Tyrion, beneath her winsome beauty were razor sharp talons that had the tenacity to inflict a world of harm to even the most innocent of people. Her disposition screamed haughtiness and obedience, the way she stared at us as though we were wasting her time, spitting on her patience. I believed every word Tyrion uttered.  
"Where is she?" Queen Cersei asked, her teeth on edge, her green eyes shadowed in contempt.  
"She'll be here soon," Tyrion replied.  
"She didn't travel with you?"  
"No."  
Queen Cersei rolled her eyes, looking at her brother with such jarring malice. One wouldn't believe these two could ever be siblings. Yet his other brother, the gold haired Jaime, seemed intrigued, obviously the kinder of the twins. Yet he too had a glaring past. After all, he killed my queen's father.  
Suddenly, two dragons flew ahead, their sounds crashing the awkward silence.  
I smiled to myself, knowing that I must keep cool and calm. My queen made me feel belonging in spaces like these, spaces of commendable power. My former master Kraznys Mo Nabloz made sure my collar was never removed. In places such as these, I would have to remember my station despite my translation abilities.  
Queen Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, the last Targaryen rode in on Drogon's back. She gracefully stepped off her child like a proud, beaming mother, her steel gaze cutting Cersei's with obvious displeasure. Yes, my queen does know how to make an entrance. The other regal woman, icy and cruel, tried to hide her impression under a sneer at my Queen's tardiness. The braids I made for her remained firm and proud with two curled tendrils framing the sides of her face.  
It was quite strange that these two opposing sides were in middle a war for the Iron Throne while one side desperately hoped to join together to defeat this otherworldly evil that could kill us all.  
We already lost one dragon in the North. Poor Viserion.  
"We've been here for some time," Queen Cersei remarked to my queen, each word delivered in chilling upset.  
"My apologies," Queen Daenerys said, not the least bit intimidated.  
"We are here to-" Tyrion stated, rising, interrupted by a gruff man.  
"Theon, I have your sister. If you don't submit to me here and now, I'll kill her."  
No one said a word. Just looked particularly stunned by the rude outburst.  
I hoped, however, that the kidnapped woman was alright.  
"I think we ought to begin with logic concerns," Tyrion said.  
"You're the smallest concern here."  
"Sit down or leave," Queen Cersei said to the disrespectful interloper.  
Tyrion resumed the meeting, leading commendably. I was quite impressed with his remarkable leadership- a man who could drink endless goblets of wine and tell obscene jokes on one hand and the other be the serious voice of reason despite those who didn't particularly respect him due to his height. I too felt like an outsider, due to my skin color and being a woman, but our queen made us both feel above adequate and often took our advising into consideration.  
"The same thing is coming for all of us," Jon Snow intervened. "A general that you can't negotiate with. An army that doesn't leave corpses behind on the battlefield..."  
"I don't think it's serious," Queen Cersei sneered. "I think it's another bad joke. You're asking me for a truce."  
"Yes," Queen Daenerys said. "That's all."  
"That's all? Pull back my armies while you go on your monster hunt? All while you expand your position."  
"Your capital will be safe until the Northern threat is dealt with. You have my word."  
"A word of a would be usurper."  
"There is no conversation that will erase the last fifty years," Tyrion interrupted. "We have something to show you."  
The tall, scraggly man with distinctive facial scars named The Hound came up the entrance on the stage, carrying a heavy crate at his back. He took off the chains and pried off the lid. For a long moment nothing happened. He flung it upside down and a creature escaped, running like mad towards Queen Cersei.  
I gasped, momentarily frightened for the stony queen.  
It was something inhuman, of no visible age, a hunched, vicious corpse running amok. Ugly, mottled gray flesh in torn clothes must have smelled like mold. The sight of it horrified everyone including the sudden reactionary Queen Cersei.  
"We can destroy them by burning them," Jon said, setting fire to a torn, still animated arm, "and we can destroy them with dragon glove. If we don't win this fight, then that is the fate of every person in the world."  
He stabbed the miserable creature's head with a dragonglass sword and took his seat.  
Queen Cersei first agreed, but on the conditions that the King of the North made no allegiance. Jon passionately pledged to my queen. Though Tyrion disputed the young man's declaration, I inwardly lauded his honesty, for sometimes such a thing strengthened my humble opinion of a stranger's character. With my queen asking for his counsel more and more, this would certainly added in her favorable treatment of him.  
Tyrion decided to speak to his sister privately. I stood beside Jorah, watching the older man sweep his jealousy beneath civility at Jon and our queen speaking privately. Oh how I felt empathy for him, loving a woman from afar, seeing her fall for other men. Yet our queen loved Jorah in a whole other way, not as the lovers that he so obviously wanted and pined for, but as a respected paternal figure. That trust was just as valid and important. However, I would be devastated too if I hadn't ever received Torgo Nudho's love.  
/  
After the private meeting, Queen Cersei had a change of heart. The woman who had wished us all death in one icy breath, now would join her forces with ours. Tyrion's persuasion obviously struck her as hard as the rest of us. Yes, he had a way with words. That sly, clever hand of my queen's was something else indeed.  
Still, this upcoming battle made me uneasy. My queen had lost one of her children to these creatures straight out of grotesque nightmares and fairy tales. When she had described them, had told me of their violence and speed, I hadn't been prepared to see it in the flesh, decayed flesh rather. Together, the North, King's Landing, and our Unsullied and Dothraki were going to fight thousands of that terrifying creature, these soulless monsters that walked like men, skin deflayed, growling incoherently.  
Inside, my usual fear for Torgo Nudho tripled.  
It was as though our lives had shifted from bad to worse. The moment we were freed from our master's collars, new dangers threatened to keep us from living the harmonious peace we truly desired.  
I prayed that we all survived.  
"Well," my queen said, approaching me and taking my arm. "I will have your confidence on this meeting of ours later, but..."  
"Yes?" I asked, allowing her to lead me away from the men.  
"I think I know what you need right of this very moment and pray tell do not deny that you know of what or whom I speak."  
She smiled like she had an enticing secret and I blushed immediately, my intuitive heart almost crushing from the great weight of expectation. If there weren't any doubt of how much my queen deserves my loyalty, our loyalty...  
First things first, however, it was time to see my love at last.


	4. Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grey Worm reflects during the Unsullied capture of Casterly Rock and their hungry journey towards King's Landing with his love in mind.

We left the piles of dead bodies rotting away at our capture of Casterly Rock, the place of tricksters, and marched onward, watching the grounds on all sides for immediate danger.  
My anger over the destroyed ships turned to fury, adding kindling like sticks for a fire. I don't mind the walking. It was that food and supplies were on those ships and Casterly Rock had been purposely emptied of everything we needed. We took a few tents and foods just in case, but it wouldn't be enough for all of us. I let my men eat first and we hunted through the lush wilderness for whatever appeared edible.  
I led the sudden rough terrain trek to King's Landing on heavy guard, my intuition- my Missandei taught me this word- on high alert. They must have schemes afoot, traps to ensure that we not make the journey. We were tired and surviving on limited food supply. Very vulnerable to those who vowed to keep themselves on the throne. I was all too familiar with ambushes, a tactic used mostly by cowards.  
"We should stop here," I said, looking at the fresh, clear waters to fill our near empty vessels, attend to minor cuts and scrapes, and clean ourselves.  
"I will check the water, Commander," said Blue Dusk, my second-in-command.  
He sank down to the ground, dipped his finger into the blue-green pool, and tasted the small sample. Afterwards, he nodded and packs of the Unsullied followed suit, alternating between stripping their leathers and gathering drink. There was no telling if we would find any more good water before reaching our final destination.  
I kept an eye out, inspecting the tall trees gathered together, the thick green bushes surrounding them. Anyone could be hiding behind the overwhelming majesty of nature, waiting for the perfect time to strike.  
"I see something!" A fellow soldier called out.  
The other Unsullied rushed out of the water and quickly grabbed their staffs. I took fighting stance, the anticipation of a fight compensating for weary boned weakness.  
A modest army, much like the size of the red coats at Casterly Rock, emerged out of the dense forest, weapons raised. They came at us like animals, pink in their cheeks, white teeth bared.  
As I pierced and stabbed any man that sought to kill me first, I thought only of returning to the one who told me, showed me the meaning behind love. Dragonstone was cold and windy, a greyer place than sun glowing Meereen or Astapor where I was trained, stolen from the hot Summer Isles. I could see Missandei from the island of Naath so clearly. She was right before me, a warm beacon, gently wishing me "good fortune" in the most beautiful, awing light. Many weeks passed since my leave. Time stretched so slow and violent under the foul stench of war. I still remembered her indescribable softness, her pleasing taste on my tongue, how my hunger grew for more of her. Yet her care for me, her tender affection touched my soldier heart and soul. I never imagined anyone could ever see me, caress and kiss me like I mattered, like my body was meant to be more than a weapon. That night kept me sustained, kept me alive. Yes, she was my weakness and my strength at the same time.  
We fought enemies through the nearly pitch black evening, grunting and clashing against swishing swords until the waters and grounds stained a dark red.  
I lost only a few men.  
Another night of no sleep was on the horizon for me, but my opened eyes would feast on the most pleasant thoughts to occupy the duration of my watch. Such distraction wasn't wise, especially for a commander of a large fleet.  
/  
I held my helmet beneath my arm, standing with my brave Unsullied, all lined up and militant, rolls and rolls of them, watching the cowardice Lannister red soldiers aiming bows, filling cannons.  
The Dothraki came seconds later, howling on their horses, carrying circular bladed swords.  
The Lannisters underestimated us.  
/  
Our queen was here. I saw her two dragons flying high in the sky, Rhaegal and Drogon- the largest and most rebellious. I wondered if something bad fell to Viserion.  
War was my only purpose. Or so it seemed.  
Until I met Missandei from the Island of Naath.  
We were both owned by Kraznys Mo Nabloz- us for weapons, she for translation. From the first time, through the narrow eye space of the tin helmet, she hit me in a way that began to change my thinking about people, about women in general. It was like repeating training, a new regime. In order to pass this test, I must refrain from this strange attachment. Yet whenever Kraznys took her away from Astapor for a time, I always felt despair and hoped for her safe return.  
Then Queen Daenerys came, conquered, and freed us all together.  
Missandei no longer wore her collar and spoke around a perverse master's language. I no longer hurt innocents at the beck and call of those same barbaric masters. I could sense her pride and pleasure every time she introduced our queen to strangers, the sound of a woman free to do as she chooses. We both served our queen because she treated us as equals, not as property.  
Once our queen was determined to better my Westori, in the private tent, fires crackling between, I thought it penance to see Missandei from the island of Naath often.  
Daario Naharis knew it first. He of the Second Sons, a murderer of his officers- one of which I wanted to kill myself for treating Missandei, a Naath goddess, like a common whore and talking to our queen with foul tongue.  
Missandei had witnessed Daario and I betting at midnight, staring at me with those huge brown eyes caught between outrage and something new- interest. I thought perhaps I was being naïve. Hope will make anyone believe in anything.  
Daario looked at the both of us, his black eyes darting back and forth with increasing mischief, and said nothing in the hours we held our weapons on stretched out forearms. Although she long since retired to bed, she was on my mind heavily, coming back with our queen the next morning, beautiful as ever.  
"You like this girl?" Daario asked after we failed to ride by our queen's side. "Must be frustrating."  
"You are not a smart man, Daario Naharis," I said.  
"I'd rather have no brains and two balls."  
Despite the humor behind the intended jab, it was still a humiliation that most men spoke of on my army. His comment added onto my determination to silence growing feelings, feelings that were not fit for a cut soldier. She deserved a full man. Yet, secretly I wished we could be together, in some way, however small.  
"How are your lessons coming along?" Jorah of Andal asked, looking curious weeks later. I respected the older, brown haired man, our queen's trusted advisor.  
"Well," I said.  
"Yes. And?"  
I looked at him, confused.  
"I see the way you look at her. We all do, Torgo Nudho. There is no shame in what transpires in a man's heart."  
"Transpires?"  
"It means the thing that happens."  
"Does our queen know?"  
"Yes."  
I lowered my head, ashamed.  
He touched my shoulder.  
"It is alright. You were trained to feel emotional attachment only to war. And now you have been changed by that of which does not often strike a man twice. What do you feel after each lesson with her?"  
"Beyond happiness. I don't have any other words."  
"Precious comes to mind."  
"Precious?"  
"It means sacred and holy, like something rare and of value, like the god you and your Unsullied were sacrificed for," Jorah said, then pounding his reddening fist against his heart, "you feel it mostly here."  
"Precious," I repeated.  
Jorah nodded.  
"I can tell you about other words, Torgo Nudho, words that she will not tell you about, the words from great poets and romantics."  
Thus, he taught me "tenderness," "heartsick," "poignant," and "sorrow."  
If he and everyone else could see the feelings that I tried burying beneath duty, I was already forsaking an honorable position for an idle pleasure and as an Unsullied that was a great wrong. I vowed to try harder, to commit to being a better Commander to my queen.  
Even without words Missandei from the Island of Naath continued to invade me, invade me much differently than a sworn enemy across a bloody battle field. I fought against the unwelcome tide of emotional waves and lost. I lost once we started traveling together, standing side by side, chosen personal advisors to our queen, those precious common tongue lessons, her naked form at the Meereen waters. Unlike the red of war and death, she was a gentle spirit, a breath of pure, calm air whose wide brown eyes, full budded lips, soft spiral hair, and sweet-natured voice could make a man fall to his knees and cry for having been gifted her heart.  
The first I ever heard of love was the day of Jorah of Andal's exile. He collapsed at her feet pledging his self to our queen's cause in light of his exposed betrayal. He came closer. I had to draw near and raise my staff at him, at a former slave master that I believed changed due to our queen's good graces. He was a man I fought alongside, a teacher of new words about my feelings for Missandei from the Island of Naath. His dishonesty blighted my regards for him, but his love for our queen never wavered. He kept coming back, willing to risk death over and over again to show his sorry.  
When Missandei said, "I love you" to me that night, I repeated her not just of obligation. They were the truest words that I ever spoke, words that spilled out of me like blood from a gaping wound, untrained words that voiced everything I felt in her presence. I would never lie to her and she would never lie to me.  
I pulled back from my reveries, resuming my place as leader to a large force, looking up at the foes protecting King's Landing castle, hoping that I would see Missandei from the Island of Naath soon. Very soon.  
I know that our queen will defeat the Lannisters and sit on the iron throne, ruling the seven kingdoms, bringing peace and justice to all.  
"Commander," Blue Dusk said, coming up from the rear, "our queen requests a word with you."  
I nodded, gave a last look up at the Lannister soldiers, let Blue Dusk stand in my place, and headed in the direction of my summoning led by Jorah, who had once again returned for our queen.


	5. Three Precious Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just three reunions that we didn't get to see including a remake of the ending of Season Eight, Episode Four's "The Last of the Starks."

Jorah of Andal shut the heavy iron door behind him, knowing that he was completely forgotten and walked away shaking his head.  
The moment Grey Worm had entered the room of hot roaring fires and a single bed grander than any he ever laid his head, a violet gown clad Missandei rushed him at once, breaking away from usual composed translator to frantic lover in need. They stood in the center, embracing each other tightly, refusing to let go, thanking the gods and goddesses for promises kept since their last time together.  
"I dreamed of this every night," Missandei confessed. "To hold you in my arms again."  
"As have I," Grey Worm said, his hands full of soft curves and thin linen.  
They broke apart, staring and studying: Grey Worm making sure it wasn't soldier's delirium to see his beloved Missandei right in front of him while she believed that this reunion was above all her expected fantasies.  
He laid his forehead against hers, trembling slightly, moved beyond words. She brought his face down to her lips, having waited long enough. Their kisses started slow and steady, lips pressing, lips remembering the texture and shape of the other. The pace picked up gradually, hungry mouths opened and melding wet tongues devoured glorious taste, the pent up passion triggered.  
He gently pushed the sides of the thin gown down her shoulders. She shrugged it off, letting it sink down to the floor. His ravenous eyes took in her lush form, glowing provocatively, luring him into the web of preemptive ecstasy. He would never get enough of looking at her. She was his ultimate temptation and nothing else would ever entice him as much as she. He started off deliberately taking his time, kissing her slender throat, all tender and sincere, his hands caressing her soft hips and lower back with languid up and down strokes. His lips and tongue sought her shoulders, ardently laving the entirety of her dewy skin, before lowering to satisfy each captured breast, suckling and suckling until her knees buckled. He collapsed further downward, kneeling at her feet, alternating between kissing her taut stomach and turning his face into her flesh, biting back disbelief that he was able to love and please her this way.  
She was clinging to him, her closed eyes lost to the tempestuous storms brewing within. Her eager legs, though trembling and weakly fighting to still function, opened at his gentle probing. She gasped aloud, likely waking all of King's Landing, the second his hot, wet tongue entered her. The indescribable sensuality brewing between them grew colossally rich and intense, with Grey Worm immensely gratified by Missandei's sweet, piquant flavor and she falling into the otherworldly bliss that his every nuanced touch subjected her to.   
Once the shooting stars arrived, one heart stopping explosion after another, he rose and carried her to bed. She watched him take off his clothes, the residual shyness remaining at his trousers, and smiled as he joined her in bed, warm and naked.  
"I love you," he said.  
"And I love you," she repeated breathlessly.  
She took his face into hers, stared deeply into his heavily blinking eyes, and kissed his cheek, his nose, his brow. Again, he seemed overcome with emotion, those emotions tugging on him since Dragonstone, feeling and seeing how much she loved and desired him. As she massaged his strong, lean arms and broad shoulders, she kissed every inch of his bare skin, leaving no stone unturned.  
They continued making up for lost time until the brink of a cold, unwanted morning.  
/  
Battle worn and weary Grey Worm was traumatized by the beasts he had fought during the terrifying night of Winterfell. Hideous creatures unlike any ever seen killed his comrades and brought them back to life. It was nothing like his queen's dragons or the red witch. He was despaired not just by other Unsullied being slaughtered left and right, some that he even grew up and trained with. Jorah of Andal's death greatly affected him. The man, who taught him so much, was valiant until the end, dying with his love for their queen remaining stout and true.  
Perhaps if it hadn't been for Queen Cersei's lack of help, her false agreement to add to their army, maybe the cost wouldn't have been so detrimental.  
Still, Grey Worm saw his future then and there. His hope for the end would be Missandei from the Island of Naath's presence, much like her vigilant visits in Meereen, that goodbye would be the hardest yet most welcoming pleasure. He would die knowing with visible proof that childhood thieves and old masters had not stolen from him the ability to love and be loved back fully in return.  
That dusky morning, Missandei came towards Grey Worm, walking then running, jumping into his arms despite the condemning glances around them.  
Later, they watched their mourning queen burn Ser Jorah alongside the other dead bodies accumulated during the great war between humanity and the blue-eyed living dead.  
After the merry feast, at long last in their private quarters, Missandei touched Grey Worm's face as though her graceful fingers hadn't seen him in weeks. It had only been a single long night. Her hands cupped his chiseled cheekbones, her sepia eyes danced with his, concentrating and memorizing. This was their life now, hers and his, the life of war, the continuous fear of losing the other growing day by day.  
He followed her lead, his coarse hands taking her gentle face, tracing each distinctive feature, closing his eyes to combat the overwhelming joy at being able to do this again, to see his only love and liberally touch her.  
"Missandei," he uttered.  
"Shhhh," she whispered, placing a finger on his lips.  
In a prepared bath of herbs and hot water, she soaped away the grime and blood coating his light brown face, gently brushing against the nicks, wiping away the dirt and sweat. Her tender ministration lowered to his neck, his shoulders, his arms. Each time she dipped the sponge into the light bubbled water and squeezed away the excess, she came back to his body with healing intentions, pleasing and igniting the fires within. Although tired, she still had the commendable power to arouse his desires.  
He tugged on her hand, silently pleading with her to join him. She smiled, stopping to slowly remove her clothing, enticing her warrior in the manner that he treasured best.  
Soon, they were cleaning each other, kissing lips and bare skin languidly, taking care to soothe every part that ached and every part that craved for burning attention.  
They fell asleep wrapped together with her holding him tightly to combat frequent night shivers threatening to swallow him whole.  
/  
Days later, their queen flew above them on Drogon, her silver braids whipping in the sky. The ship Grey Worm and Missandei boarded turned the corner, nearing Dragonstone- the place they fully declared their feelings. The two lovers blissfully held hands, smiled wide, and looked out at the great castle, each reflecting on finding rare happiness, the many things shared that sacred night and other nights since.  
Suddenly, their solace was interrupted by arrows coming in from another direction, aggressively striking the boat, causing it to dangerously tilt to one side.  
Fate then decided to severely separate the two lovers.  
...  
"What has happened?" Queen Daenerys asked, meeting the damp survivors at the shore, her contorted brows and green eyes expressing great sorrow due to another dead dragon, her son Rhaegal. Only Drogon was left.  
"They have taken Missandei, my queen," Grey Worm said, his face losing composure, crestfallen by the unexpected turn of events.  
"We will get her back," Tyrion said.  
Queen Daenerys looked at him with a mixture of hope and malice. She had lost much in a matter of days, Ser Jorah dying in her arms, Rhaegal struck viciously, his blood pouring into the sea, his massive body falling afterwards. They all died in front of her, for her. She would be damned if she lost Missandei too.  
"If anything happens to my most trusted advisor best be sure that Cersei will never live to breathe another breath," Queen Daenerys spat out.  
Tyrion swallowed.  
Grey Worm stared at the small Lannister with contempt. His trust in him was wavering. It seemed like only yesterday that they shared wine and told jokes in Meereen, were granted an unexpected moment of humanness. Yet Grey Worm could see that the Lannister wasn't the best decision maker.  
...  
Missandei stared down at the cold, rusty chains affixed to her hands, brutal monstrosities she thought she would never experience again. She remembered Naath, being five-years-old, watching helplessly as her loving parents were murdered, her siblings taken away into the unknown, how the butterflies didn't poison those slavers enough. They had taken her small hands then, placing copper cuffs around her fine boned wrists and strapping a black collar to her neck. She could still feel the paneled wood boat beneath her bare feet, see her village savagely burning, but it was those chains that were most memorable. So ugly and painful, making harsh clanking sounds against her sensitive skin, a symbol for her endless years of captivity...  
"So much for the Breaker of Chains," Queen Cersei remarked, deadly humor laced in her voice.  
Missandei remembered the man as the rude interloper from the meeting at Dragonpit, the Greyjoy who walked out like a coward, refusing to fight the wights. She held her tongue, refusing to look at either of her captors, but it was he she wished most to spit on. They would only kill her that much faster.  
"And what about you?" Queen Daenerys asked. "You understand that I am taking you to war. You may go hungry. You may fall sick. You may be killed."  
"Valar murgholis," Missandei replied.   
"Yes. All men must die, but we are not men."  
In the cell, leaky walls dripped a repetitive chant and drab gray floors were caked in dust that hadn't been cleaned in centuries, Missandei closed her eyes and thought of her queen and her love, the two important people in her life. She pined away, wanting one more kiss from Torgo Nudho if she were to die between the here and now. If only she hadn't gone to the skiff and stayed put. She would be consoling her queen for the loss of her two dragon children and warming her love until morning rose.  
At the very moment, Queen Cersei likely plotted her execution.  
Missandei looked at her brown dress and held back a sob. It was eerily similar to the one she had passionately unbuttoned for Torgo Nudho at Dragonstone.  
...  
Grey Worm was grateful that they sailed back towards King's Landing. He could not sleep in that room, the room that had haunted and sustained him for months on journeys to Casterly Rock and King's Landing. He would surely have nightmares, nightmares about their first night together intertwined with the tortures that the Lannisters were likely placing on her.  
How could he possibly lay there when she was gone, stolen away, kidnapped by beasts?  
Anger and fear grew as wide and treacherous as the vast seas. His balled fists hardened at his sides, his waking mind tormenting him with anguished images, all ending in her innocent blood spilled like those on many battlefields he had seen. He knew about military torture, the vile cruelties that captured enemies were subjected to, having had to long ago do so for the benefit of his old masters. They could cut off her hair, amputate her, inflict pain with sharp metal tools on every part of her, even rape her.  
"I fear that I will never again see Missandei from the Island of Naath."  
Tears formed, desperate to leak the sadness from his eyes.  
It was unlike this warrior, one trained to be expressionless and obey all command, to feel so incredibly helpless.  
...  
The hour was late, Missandei's body was tired, too fearful to fall into the seduction of slumber, especially in such a rotten, dank place. She heard the footsteps and voices. It was Queen Cersei's face first emerging into the bright firelight.  
"A bargain well struck if I must say so," she said, staring at Missandei like a satisfied snake after having squeezed and swallowed prey.  
Then Yezzan zo Qaggaz of Astapor appeared rather triumphant and smug. His Kohl lined eyes gleefully shimmered and his many ringed fingers rubbed soundfully together.  
Missandei refrained from gasping aloud, refusing to broadcast emotion to her captors. Now her terrible plight worsened beyond her imagination. She expected some concocted form of torture, death especially by the lying mad woman. To be resold into slavery once more paled beyond comprehension.  
The red and gold Lannister guard unlocked the cell and pulled Missandei upright, forcing her to stand on weak feet. They hadn't fed her. She wouldn't have eaten anyway, trusting nothing they would slip beneath the filthy bars.  
"Yes, my queen," Yezzan stated. "This is indeed a bargain."  
Missandei looked at him with callous eyes, wishing Torgo Nudho had slit his throat when he had the chance. To think he had been on his knees begging for mercy.  
Yezzan only smiled harder, recalling her flare at the meeting in Meereen drawn up by the dwarf he once owned. However, that fire would certainly need to be whipped away. A slave should not possess such unwarranted tenacity. What would that do for business?  
"You never know when a translator comes along," he said.  
"Oh yes," Queen Cersei agreed, then looked down at Missandei's chained wrists with a sickly satisfaction. "I trust that this one shall never see free hands ever again."  
Yezzan nodded and took Missandei away with a strong arm, brusquely forcing her up the stairs, outside in the brisk air, towards his waiting ship. At last, he had revenge on the Dragon Queen, a plot only months in the making.  
...  
Above deck, a sleepless Tyrion rested his head on the edge of the ship and peered over at the blackening abyssal waters. Suddenly alert, he stood rampant straight, catching the movement of a large familiar vessel gliding ways away into the enigmatic shadows, trying to evade the light of the white slivered moon.  
"An Astaporian ship?" he asked, crooking his hand beneath his bearded chin. "What would that be doing here in King's Landing, let alone Westeros?"  
Queen Daenerys, who also found trouble sleeping, came to look at the other occupier of the waters, traveling in the late night. It seemed to be in a great hurry too, to escape all eyes who possibly knew of its sentimental contents on board, of its valuable human cargo.  
"I know exactly why," Queen Daenerys said, putting two and two together, her intuition hitting hard. "Yezzan zo Qaggaz has made a deal with the devil. Who knows how long this has been in the works. Perhaps ever since Cersei pulled back against helping us in the war against humanity, she struck this alliance behind my back. Somehow she understood what Missandei is to me, to our cause and took it upon herself to sever that in the most heinous way possible- selling her back into slavery."  
"And to think we let him live," Tyrion said, placing his hand to his forehead.  
"He has her," Grey Worm said, suddenly behind the two of them, his expression hard as stone. "And for that he must die."  
"Now," Tyrion said, holding up a defensive hand. "Let's approach this rationally."  
Grey Worm gave him a cold stare. He wanted to kill the bastard and bring Missandei safely home. There was no in-between to him.  
"Look," Tyrion held up his hands, "we don't know what to expect on board. We have to plan this in a way to ensure that Missandei is brought back to us alive and well."  
"Pray tell what is your approach." Queen Daenerys studied the ship with critical observation, listening candidly to Tyrion's master plan.  
...  
Not a soul lived on the Astaporian transport. No one. Yezzan himself had been stabbed in the throat and thrown overboard.  
Of course, this wasn't Tyrion's plan at all. With the heart on the line, sometimes carefully stitched orchestrations were not necessary in a rescue mission.  
Once the queen granted them a moment alone en route to Dragonstone at last, Grey Worm hugged Missandei close to his chest, close to his rapidly beating heart, almost squeezing the breath from her. She welcomed his tight grasp, also holding onto dear life, taking utmost pleasure in the union after such a grisly ordeal. She couldn't think on what would have happened if they hadn't caught that ship in time, that they might have been lost to each other forever.  
"Torgo Nudho," she whispered in his ear, saying his name like a poem, like a beacon of hope and joy, like it was the only word worth knowing in nineteen languages.  
He pulled away a little, still holding onto her waist.  
"Are you alright?" He asked, looking her up and down, checking for wounds and injuries."Have they hurt you in any way?"  
"I am unharmed," she replied.  
"Good," he said, smiling through unmistakable sorrow. "Missandei, you are everything to me. I do not know if I could live if anything bad happened to you. From the time you were taken, I was scared for you."  
She nodded, closing her eyes briefly to ease the onslaught of tears, losing the battle as the droplets spilled down her cheeks.  
"I was scared too," she admitted.  
He stroked her cheek and kissed her softly. She returned the kiss, giving into her desires, her happiness at being in his arms again.  
"We are together," she declared passionately against his lips. "And that is all that matters."  
He softly rubbed her reddened wrists from the abrasive chains' impressions, rounded scars encasing her light golden skin in memories of a violent, painful history relived for sadistic revenge. Once the castle came into view, she shivered a bit, wary from sudden deja vu. He kept a protective guard over her, watching all directions for any sign of new danger whilst fiercely taking her hand in his.  
Silently, he vowed that they would kill every last Lannister standing and that Tyrion better not get in the way. Queen's Hand or not, Grey Worm could easily see the man was conflicted over loyalty.  
"What are you thinking?" Missandei asked, looking at him with her pure and trusting brown eyes.  
"That once our queen takes the throne, we will sail to Naath," Grey Worm replied, smiling at her. "I promised to take you back home and we shall go there."  
She blushed a little from his penetrative stare and tender words and peered towards the sea, her heart beat racing faster than the waves.  
"It will be our home," she said.  
He smiled and nodded agreeably.  
...  
After the last great war ended with Drogon burning Cersei alive in front of all King's Landing and Jaime fleeing under the protective guardianship of Briene of Tarth, Queen Daenerys took the Iron Throne and cordially blessed Grey Worm and Missandei's travel to Naath with some of the Unsullied.  
"If you ever need anything at all," said Queen Daenerys, tearfully hugging Missandei, "do not hesitate to return. You will always have a place here."  
"Yes, Your Grace," Missandei said.  
"No, it's my friend now as you have always been since Astapor. I know I had said then that you belong to me, but you do not, my friend. You are yours and yours alone. You have the most gentle soul and have stolen the heart of my most valiant soldier. I know that you two shall be happy in Naath."  
"Thank you... my friend," Missandei amended softly.  
Queen Daenerys nodded to Grey Worm and he returned the gesture, seeing all the words she wanted to convey.  
"I have been honored serving you, my queen," he said.  
"My friend," she amended for him.  
He smiled then, a rarity in her presence.  
"If you two ever need more jokes," Tyrion said, stepping forward, "I will come forth supplying the wine. Do they even drink wine in Naath?"  
"No, we do not," Missandei said, laughing heartily and shaking his hand.  
"Pity," he said. "Well, it has certainly been a pleasure, Missandei of Naath. I wish you and Grey Worm a fortuitous journey. May your love guide you always."  
"Thank you."  
Grey Worm led his precious Missandei towards the large, impressive ship, helping her up the wooden ladder and joining her on the wide open deck. They stood together, happy and overwhelmed, never having ventured a place on their own before, of their freest choosing. He kissed the top of her curls and smiled brighter than ever. She closed her eyes and rested her head onto his shoulder.  
As the ship set sail to the land of butterflies, white sand beaches, and trees that touched the sky, Missandei and Grey Worm were finally going home- not as captured property- as two individuals who found each other in the face of abject slavery.  
And these two beautiful lovers- one a gentle-hearted soul and the other a brave fighter- looked forward to the many things that would transpire there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and giving kudos for a big Missandei/Grey Worm fan. I much appreciate the attention for this little story that stems from their lacking GoT interaction. My fic would have been a little longer, but alas wasn't sure if anyone would continue on with Yezzan taking Missandei all the way to Astapor. Any who, please comment if you will. I love, love (and appreciate) comments. Again, thank you all.


End file.
